Friday Night
by ailrox
Summary: Martin can't handle his liquor and Douglas has to take him home. A Cabin Pressure fic. Put on your shipper goggles and you can see some Martin/Douglas, but otherwise it's just fun. Pre-Yverdon. Complete.


"Martin?"

Douglas was, unusually, stunned into silence. The party raged around him, a horde of drunken blurs whirling around each other, deciding who they were going to take home that night and regret in the morning.

And there was Martin, in the center of it all with a glass in his hand and a girl very much in his personal space.

"Martin - good Lord," Douglas said over the pulsing, tuneless music.

He pushed his way through the layer of dancing twenty-somethings to the space that Martin and his young companion occupied.

"Douglas?" Martin looked shocked at first. Then he broke into a grin. "Hello Douglas." Clumsily, he attempted to disentangle his limbs from his lady affectation, tripping and collapsing onto the first officer.

"Woah, there." Douglas took the man by his shoulders and set him back, unsteadily, on his feet.

"Douglas," Martin grinned. "So good t'see you."

The girl slipped over to place herself on Martin's shoulder, her hand slinking down to his lapel and her mouth pressing to his ear. Douglas cocked an eyebrow.

"Captain. I see you're thoroughly inebriated," he said. He took Martin by the arm and steered him away from the deafening music and liquored up dancers, and away from that damn girl. "Might I ask what you are doing here?"

"Students, they invited me. I didn't want to at first but then I did and m'so glad." He stumbled over his feet and his words but the grin never left his face.

Douglas maneuvered to a quiet corner, stopping with exasperation several times to collect a certain Martin who managed to get caught up with the dancing even with Douglas's arm over his neck.

He stood Martin with his back to the crowd and placed himself directly in front.

"And who was that girl, captain?"

"Oh, she was - I, I don't think sh'told me her name, she'ws *lovely* though, Douglas."

Douglas smiled wryly.

Martin took a step in, invading his first officer's space in the way only a drunk can. "Tell me, Douglas," he slurred in a whisper, pressing his face in even closer. His breath was heavy with alcohol and his eyes were wide. "Tell me. Avyou ever had... a vodka lemonade?"

Douglas sighed and repositioned Martin an appropriate distance away. "How many drinks have you had?"

"Oh, not many, obviously. Maybe 2. Or 3. Oh, th'was, th'was the ones the students bought me, and those girls, and th'man in the pink cowboy vest..."

"Have we had enough, do you think?"

"I'm not drunk if that's... what you're asking," he said. "S'thefloor. The floor keeps... moving." He swayed.

"But sir -"

"M'not drunk Douglas!"

* * *

In an alley, listening to the sound of Martin retching.

This was not what Douglas expected from his Friday night.

Indeed, this was not what Douglas expected from any of his nights.

Standing in a trash-filled, grubby back alley patting his supreme commander on the back and alternating between making 'tut tut' and 'there there' noises.

He had had many nights like this in the past, certainly. He knew his way around tiny alleyways littered with bottles and cigarettes. But that was a long time ago, and he was usually the one who was, as they say, three sheets in the wind. He didn't expect it to happen to Martin.

Finally, Martin came away from the bin and fell back against the wall. Douglas moved to steady him, but he simply slid down the wall and sat there, head back, exhausted.

"I think... I'd like t'sleep," he said slowly.

"Righto. Let's get you home." Douglas moved to help the commander up but he dodged his hand.

"No! No, I'm n'going there," he pouted, folding his arms indignantly.

"Now now, Martin."

Martin stood up, swaying a little in place. "No, I don't wan to." And then he fell, again, right into Douglas's arms.

"Alright, sir." He began to steer Martin to the street.

Martin leaned his head against his shoulder and giggled. "You're warm."

"I'll add that to my jar of compliments," Douglas said dryly.

Douglas hailed a cab and poured a now-giggly Martin in.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Martin, what is your address?"

Martin just giggled and his head lolled. "If I don't tell you, you can't take me there," he laughed.

"Lord above, Martin, I swear..." Douglas put his face to his hand. "We'll go to my house."

* * *

Martin tumbled out of the cab at Douglas's feet. Douglas hauled him up with an amused smile.' However, much to the first officer's displeasure, he promptly fell over again and attempted to fall asleep.

"Sir, you are very nearly more trouble than you are worth," he muttered. And with a sigh, he bent down to haul the half-asleep captain over his shoulder.

"Where're we going?" Martin slurred with his face pressed against Douglas's back.

"To bed," Douglas grunted.

"Oh, good."

"There you go," Douglas said a minute later as he laid Martin down on a bed . "You get to sleep in my bed tonight. Try not to vomit on my sheets."

Martin snuggled into the silk. "Should... get plastered more often." He giggled. Then he was asleep.

Douglas eyed the sleeping figure. Lingered for a moment on his face. He chuckled.

It certainly wasn't what he expected from his Friday night.


End file.
